


A Little Night Music

by jouyato



Category: Classical Music RPF
Genre: M/M, No Plot/Plotless, christ i am going to be haunted by their ghosts is2g, highly inaccurate characterization, i am just a gay little stan for maurice and igor's friendship, im bad at summaries they literally just walk and have a conversation, maybe gay if u squint but i tried to hold back, set in 1913, was stravinsky bi? idk maybe, when they were working together on orchestrating rimsky-korsakov's khovanshchina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28694439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouyato/pseuds/jouyato
Summary: Igor goes on the walk in the middle of the night with his friend and colleague Ravel. They inevitably end up talking about music.
Relationships: Igor Stravinsky & Maurice Ravel, Igor Stravinsky/Maurice Ravel
Kudos: 3





	A Little Night Music

**Author's Note:**

> sorry to stravinsky in advance. i just used him as a self insert for my own maurice swooning *laughs* 
> 
> unbetaed like everything i write sorry for my shit english

A midnight walk. Igor convinces himself it was simply to get away from composing, or perhaps to work his muscles a bit in order to exhaust himself into sleep―but he knew that these twists and turns into quieter, more unexplored Swiss streets were not without aim, and it was in a darkly lit street when he saw the reason he was out in the first place.

He quietly approaches the hunched figure and kneels in front of him, stroking the cat he was playing with on the head.

"Stravinsky," he starts, brought out of his reverie as he lifts his dark eyes to meet Igor's own.

"Ravel," Igor returns.

Ravel spends a few moments staring at Igor's countenance while Igor finds himself escaping the scrutiny by turning his eyes towards the cat, now trotting away as soon as it sensed it was no longer getting any more attention from the Frenchman.

Ravel clears his throat and moves to stand up and Igor finds himself following after the older.

"What brings you out? Shouldn't you be resting instead of..." he trails off and gestures around them.

Igor shrugs and follows Ravel yet again as he takes slow steps to continue his aimless nightly walks. "I thought it would be nice to get some fresh air."

Ravel nods in agreement. "Fresh air. Yes. It is indeed nice."

The conversation takes a pause as Ravel clears his throat again and continues to walk on, observing the night sky above them. Igor stares unabashedly at the man's face now that he was looking away from Igor and he finds himself taken in by how Ravel's eyes seem so focused yet unfocused—as if he were an observer amidst a dream.

"Walking is nice. The fresh air and stars are… nice," Ravel blinks then focuses his eyes straight on Igor's. "You do not get to see as many stars in Paris."

In a hurry, Igor looks away and towards the sky. He agrees. "Perhaps Clarens is named as such because the sky is always clear," Igor jests in a straight tone. It earns him a wide smile from the older man and he smiles in return, looking back down at Ravel and into their path illuminated by the moonlight.

"And you?" Igor asks. "Is there a reason for your nightly escapades?"

Ravel hums in thought. "I do not sleep well in the evenings." He pauses. "But aside from that, there is a certain music one can only dream to produce all around you in the late evenings. Listen. Listen closely, my friend."

Igor strains his ears yet fails to hear what Ravel was hearing. "I hear nothing," he says, furrowing his brows.

"Listen closer," Ravel instructs again.

The leaves rustle with the ever-present Alpine breeze. Somewhere in the distance a cat mewls. A nocturnal insect makes a droning sort of noise. "But there is no music?"

A ghost of disappointment flits through Ravel's face as he lifts the corners of his mouth to smile softly. "Well perhaps you shall get to hear it sometime," he muses and picks up his pace.

Igor follows Ravel's figure in the dark. The slight figure bobs and weaves through alleys, refusing to take the main roads out on the street. He walks without pause, only glancing from time to time to see if Igor was still following. Paved stone eventually gives way to grass and sparse cypress trees, and yet still the man continues on.

When he finally stops, it was sudden and Igor finds himself almost colliding against Ravel's back. He coughs and looks shyly at the man, stuttering a tiny apology.

"It's fine," the older brushes off. "Here, my friend. Sit with me and listen." He sits on a patch of grass in the middle of the clearing wherein they stopped.

"You are speaking of listening again," Igor points out as he moves to sit beside the other man.

Ravel gives him a meaningful look with a small smile and doesn't reply, instead closing his eyes and resting his head over his drawn knees.

Igor finds himself flustering at the sense of familiarity and trust the quickly executed actions held. Looking at Ravel now, he looks to not only be calm and peaceful but vulnerable as well with that unguarded look on his face. That show of vulnerability was what especially made Igor's heart beat faster.

"Do you hear it too, Stravinsky?"

Igor snapped out of his thoughts and tried to imitate Ravel's composure. He once again strained his hearing and was immediately met with the intense sounds of the forest. There were cicadas singing, an owl hooting every few seconds, leaves rustling. It almost seemed as if a symphony. Listening closer, in the distance he could hear waves crashing against one another, an aria amidst the forest's music.

"Is this the music you speak of, Ravel? The trees? The owls? The forest?"

Ravel opens his eyes and smiles, eyes glittering. "Yes. The forest in movement. Lake Geneva singing. Amidst it all, the wind as the mighty conductress. Isn't it all wonderful?"

Igor couldn’t find the right words to give as a reply so he chooses to be quiet instead, letting the so-called music fill the gap. He looks further on towards the horizon where the cradling sound of the waves originates, eyes focusing on the dim night as he finds it once again unbearable to look his friend in the eye.

“I understand that it is strange to find such noises to be musical—much less admire it as I do—but as I’ve said before, sleep does not come as easily to me as it does for others. I cannot conjure music from my dreams as, say, Tartini once did. The sound of life, undisturbed by people is the closest I can get to such awe-inspiring music in the evenings.”

Ravel pauses, all of a sudden sounding unsure before continuing, “It is also perhaps the reason why I was so drawn in by your work.”

“Le Sacre?”

“Yes. It was perhaps the closest depiction of… _life_ that I’ve ever heard in music.”

Igor chooses to look at his companion then and finds him looking down at his shoes with the same small smile as before although with a tinge of shyness this time. Heart once again thudding against his ears, he comments, “I recall you saying that such music was near impossible to recreate outside of dreams.”

“And yet somehow you managed to do so, Stravinsky.” Ravel looks up then, gaze strong and earnest. Igor finds himself drawn in and unable to look away. The sound of the nightlife becomes drowned out by the overwhelming rush of blood as his pulse picked up even faster.

Igor catches himself in the act of leaning closer and immediately backs away, standing up and brushing himself off.

“It’s- it’s getting late. There is still much work to do tomorrow, no?”

Ravel looks at him curiously, the small smile still on his lips. “Indeed. Shall we head back then?”

“Yes. Of course. We should.” Igor cringes at the stiffness of his words. Ravel seems to find it amusing though as he lets out a chuckle while making to stand up as well and brush his trousers off. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette before offering one to Igor with a raise of his brow.

“You seem like you need one, my friend.”

Igor thinks to accept it until an image of Ravel leaning in with a match to light it flits inside his head involuntarily.

“No, I’m good.”

Ravel shrugs as he flicks away the match flame after lighting his cigarette. He takes a deep inhale of the smoke before exhaling and smiling again.

“Suit yourself,” he says, making his way back into town and leaving Igor with the familiar sight of his back.

Igor moves to follow, willing his heart to steadily calm down until he can once again hear the sound of the nighttime music that Ravel so admires.


End file.
